The Witness
by otherpartyfavors
Summary: FitzSimmons AU for Secret Valentine's Exchange (for eclecticmuse on tumblr). Dr. Jemma Simmons comes into contact with a violent killer. While the FBI tracks him down, Agent Fitz is assigned to protect Dr. Simmons.
1. Chapter 1

It was far too late to still be in the lab. One o'clock in the morning, to be exact. She should have gone home hours ago, but Dr. Simmons was not one to walk away from an investigation unfinished. The investigation had lasted all day—the victim's body far too mangled for a quick case.

It was nothing that Dr. Jemma Simmons couldn't handle, but she couldn't help but think of her warm, cozy bed. She had one more analysis to run, testing some blood residue of the victim for interactions with an unknown pathological agent.

"All right, sir," she said, narrating her actions to keep her mind alert, "let's see how this mystery agent affected you…"

She began filling a vile with drying blood from an artery in the victim's neck, when she noticed a metal glint in the wound on his chest.

"Well, now. What are you?" she asked to the air, placing the vile of blood to the side and picking up a clean set of tweezers and a scalpel. It seemed odd that she had missed something like this—she was the Chief Medical Examiner for god's sake. After a little digging in the victim's chest cavity, she found it.

It was a simple metal disk, similar to an old flattened penny she had gotten at the fair once a few years back, except the edges weren't intricate, lace-like designs in the metal, but razor sharp ridges. Jemma flipped it over, and found an inscription, which she could barely make out.

Taking the disk to the cleaning solution across the room, she gently scrubbed the disk. Finally she could read the inscription, etched into the metal:

_"Courtesy of Dr. Whitehall"_

"Dr. Whitehall…" she wondered aloud, scanning her brain for any recognition of the name. She had never heard of a Dr. Whitehall before.

Something clicked behind Jemma. She turned, and saw the door to the lab opening. Instinct told her to hide, and hide she did, behind an adjacent examination table.

Peeking over her shoulder, she saw two men walk through the door: a man with grey hair and another man, taller and larger, with brown hair. Jemma's heart rate quickened at the sight of a gun in the hands of the second man. _This isn't right, _she thought. _Who are these people?_

"It really is a shame the police department found this one," said the first man with the grey hair. His fingers lightly traced over one of the particularly nasty wounds of the victim. "Over 75 jobs and this is the first one they found. I hate to have a broken record."

Suddenly Jemma heard a crunch, catching a glimpse of the grey-haired man digging his hand out of the chest of the victim. She felt her stomach turn—not from the blood or human tissue, but from what she gathered from his few words: this was the victim's killer.

She tried to control her breathing. She was sitting in the room of a killer. _A killer who had killed at least 75 others_. She had to get out. She had to get out now. _But how?_

"Mr. Ward," started the older man, "please secure the premises. I can't seem to find my calling card."

"Certainly, Doctor," answered the younger man, as he left the room.

Jemma glanced at the emergency exit to her right. If she was quick enough, she could make it, especially with the armed man heading in the opposite direction.

_Come on, Jemma, _she thought to herself. _You can do this. It's just a murderer—you can escape a murderer, right? _As she was overcome with the need to vomit, she made a break for it through the exit door.

An alarm rang through the building as her feet hit the pavement. She ran like a fool, trying to think of any place that might make a decent hiding place. She had the advantage of knowing this building like the back of her hand, and knew of a side entrance to a storage room. The door was almost always covered by shadow—without knowing it was there, this Ward and Dr. Whitehall were not likely to notice it.

Rounding the corner and closing herself inside as quickly and as quietly as possible, Jemma pulled out her phone, and called 9-1-1.

**…**

"All right everybody," the chief said, walking into the room with a stack of papers and a cup of coffee. "We've got a new case. Seems all those missing persons may have been victims of experimentation with new weapons, made by a man who we now know has a lot of street cred."

"Someone we heard of, Chief?" asked May.

"Possibly," answered Coulson. "We've heard some rumors about a particularly violent dealer, and this may be the story he tells to avoid attention."

"How would that help him avoid attention?" asked Skye. "Almost all of our federal dollars are reserved for drug busts."

"Well, to start, he's not really that kind of dealer," responded Coulson, as he began passing out files of images.

Skye gasped as she looked at the image of a mangled body, with a deep chest wound and innumerable scratches and boils.

"Sir," said Trip over his file, "how is this helping him avoid attention?"

"We've gathered from a few sources that he's been leaving a calling card," Coulson answered. "People in the area who see that chest wound and the device inside, the calling card, know to stay away, and not mention it."

"Cause he'll do the same to them," finished May.

"Exactly," finished the chief.

"So how did we find out about this?" piped in the newest agent to New York's FBI office, Agent Fitz.

"In the next room over we have a witness. A medical examiner by the name of Dr. Jemma Simmons," continued Coulson. "Police miraculously found one of the dealer's victims, and she was examining the body when the dealer, a weapons dealer who apparently calls himself 'Dr. Whitehall', showed up at her lab. She had found his calling card." He threw an image of the metal disk with sharp edges onto the table.

"Is she okay?" asked Skye.

"A little frazzled, naturally," answered Coulson, "but not physically harmed. She managed to escape and call the police undetected."

Trip let out a low whistle. "She must be fighter, that one."

"Indeed. She's been rather impossible this morning. Doesn't seem to understand that her life is in danger. Keeps going on about having to feed her cat."

"I'm sure we can take care of that if she needs to lie low for the time being," said Skye.

"Already took care of it. Scruffles is in the hands of the State for the indefinite future. As is Dr. Simmons." Coulson drained his coffee before continuing. "I'll need Agents May, Skye, and Trip on the scene ASAP. We've got to find this 'Dr. Whitehall' as soon as possible."

"And me, sir?" asked Fitz.

"Agent Fitz, as you're newer with us, I'd like to wait to put on with the rest of the team. You'll be assigned to Dr. Simmons. You'll basically be her bodyguard while she lies low until we find Whitehall."

Fitz nodded his head, accepting the assignment. "Should I go meet her now?"

"Yes indeed," answered Coulson. "I'll introduce you now."

**…**

Jemma sat with her arms crossed in what looked like an interrogation room. She couldn't believe the way they were treating her, telling her she couldn't even go home to feed her cat.

"Honestly," she said to herself under her breath, "acting like _I'm _the criminal. You're probably listening to me now, aren't you? Corrupt American justice system… If we were in Britain this wouldn't be happening!"

Just then the door opened, to reveal Chief Coulson and a smaller man with curly hair.

"Dr. Simmons," started the Chief, "I'd like you to meet Agent Fitz. You'll be spending a lot of time together for the next couple of weeks."

"And why is that?" questioned Jemma, barely noticing the younger agent.

"We've told you, Dr. Simmons," said Coulson through grated teeth. "You aren't safe. That man from the lab will kill you and kill you brutally if he finds you. You yourself examined one of his victims. Please cooperate for your own safety."

_Dammit, he has a point, _thought Jemma. "Fine," she relented, "I'll take your protection. What has that got to do with you, sir?" She directed this question at Agent Fitz.

Agent Fitz seemed momentarily flustered by her sudden eye contact. "I, um," he started, clearing his throat. "I'm assigned to shadow you, make sure no one is following you or anything like that."

Jemma eyed him skeptically. He was a little small for an agent, in her opinion. She wasn't sure how much good he would do her. But then again, Jemma had no skills with any weaponry or combat, and he would at least have some, being an FBI agent and all. And he was British, so they would at least have something to talk about. The whole situation was absurd, like something out of a Kevin Costner movie.

"What exactly does the term 'shadow' mean in this context?" she asked the two agents.

"He'll be right next to you indefinitely," responded Coulson. "He'll stay in the apartment next to you, follow you on any outings, basically go anywhere that you go outside of your new lodgings."

_New lodgings. Great. _"Where am I moving to, exactly?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"Just the other side of town," answered Agent Fitz, smiling pleasantly at her. "There're a couple flats we secured that we'll stay in for the time being. Real close the Park!"

Jemma had to stifle a laugh. He was trying so hard to sell this.

"Well now," said Coulson, after a few moments of silence passed. "Time for you two to head out. Car's waiting downstairs."

The three of them exited the room, with Jemma awkwardly shaking Coulson's hand as he parted ways.

"By the way," Agent Fitz whispered to her, "you were probably right about this not happening in Britain."

"So you were listening!" she said with shock.

"We're FBI, Dr. Simmons," he said with a sly smile, "we're always listening."

She let out a "humph" of disapproval. "So wait a moment, you're not American! Why do you have a government job like this?"

"I don't know, Dr. Chief Medical Examiner for the city of New York, why would I have job like this?" he said turning around to face her with a smirk on his face.

"Touché, Agent Fitz," she said with a chuckle. "Touché."


	2. Chapter 2

They made it to the new flat without incident, except for the fact that the enormity of the situation was starting to finally dawn on Jemma. She had a murderer on her tail, and not just a murderer, but also a mutilator, a man who had killed dozens of people because he was curious what some new weapons could do.

The hours passed, and a shiver went down her spine as she sat in her new, empty flat, with nothing but an old issue of _The New Yorker _lying on the table for decoration. Normally Jemma quite liked the silence of being alone, but something changed. The idea of being a crime scene witness made her on edge, and the silence ominous.

"I wish my cat were here," she said into the silence, trying to fall asleep on the couch (the bedroom had too many windows to feel safe). She heard Agent Fitz in the room next door turn on some television, realizing after a moment that he was watching _Friends._

"Huh," she once again said into the silence. She had two simultaneous thoughts. The first one was that she wanted to go join him, the second, that she surely shouldn't go and join him. _He's my… agent protector…guy, _she thought. _ I can't go watch _Friends_ with him…_

Yet the minutes passed by and the more she heard of the television show, the less she could sleep, and the more she wanted to get up. _I'm sure he wouldn't mind that much. Just one episode. I'll_ _watch one episode._

So she pulled her pajama-self up from the couch and made her way out into the hallway. It was a very bright hallway, but the longer she stood out there, the more it creeped her out. _Honestly Jemma, get yourself together. There's no murderer hiding in the hallway._

Agent Fitz then opened the door, pajama clad, in plaid pants and a white t-shirt. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking down the hall to see if anyone else was there.

"Oh, yes," she said, suddenly incredibly embarrassed. "I just couldn't sleep, and I couldn't help but hear you were watching television, and I—"

"—would you like to join me?" he finished, smiling at her with surprise.

"Well," she said, stomach fluttering a bit at his smile, "if you don't mind."

"Ah, well," he cleared his throat, opening the door wider for her to come inside, "technically it's not ah, you know, um," he paused for a second, as if trying to find the right words. "P-protocol," he landed on, "it's not protocol, but I can make an exception."

"Oh! I don't want you to get into trouble!"

He chuckled a bit as he motioned for her to sit on the couch. "I won't get in trouble. The rest of my team is busy catching your victim-slayer! They won't be paying attention to me."

_Victim-slayer. _The smile on Jemma's face vanished as the words sunk in. She sat quietly on the couch, trying not to shake as her panic started to mount.

"Ah…" he started, clearly noting that he'd said something wrong. "But you know, just to clarify, just because my team is out there, I'm here and I have lots of training in protecting civilians." He sat down on the couch next to her, eyeing her for any sign of improvement.

Jemma realized that he was trying to comfort her. "Can you turn your TV on?" was all she managed to get out.

Slightly shocked, he said quickly, "Yeah! Yeah, here you go! Lots of laughs from this lot, yeah?"

She looked over to him giving her a rather uncomfortable smile. "I'm sorry," she started, getting up from the couch, "I should just go."

"Wait!" he said, as she turned around to him. "Sorry, you must be terrified. You don't have to hide that, I get it. I think some laughs would really do you good." He motioned to the television, a hopeful look on his face.

Jemma felt like she could cry. All of the tension and fear was boiling over her, yet she managed to remain calm, laughing slightly as she sat down next to Agent Fitz. "Yes," she said, "I think they would!"

"Good," he beamed, turning the television on and placing the remote on the coffee table.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the second half of the episode where Phoebe has triplets. As the next episode started (there was apparently a marathon happening on the local station), Jemma tried to think of something to break the silence. _This is so awkward, _she thought.

She cleared her throat during the next commercial break, getting his attention. "So, Agent Fitz," she started, "what brought you to the American FBI program?"

Agent Fitz looked relieved at her question—perhaps the silence had been awkward for him as well. "Ah, well to start you can call me Fitz. No need to be formal. And would you like a drink? Water, tea, or beer?" He got up toward the fridge in the kitchen and Jemma followed, leaving the TV behind.

"Hmmm," Jemma answered, look towards the fridge, "What kind of tea and what kind of beer?"

"Excellent question!" He began digging around in the cabinets, finally upholding a basic black tea. "I normally have something without caffeine, but I didn't prep this apartment. And…" he bent down in the fridge, "…looks like we've got some Red Stripe and Blue Moon. Not my first choices, but there's always water."

"I'll take a Red Stripe," said Jemma, enjoying the ease that had been created after the initial awkwardness, taking a sip of beer while leaning up against the kitchen counter next to Fitz. "You never answered my question."

"Oh right!" he said, taking a swig from his beer. "Well, I came here for Uni. It drove my mum nuts, but it was the best school for what I wanted to do. Then I graduated, worked for a bit here and there, and then got a, um, Master's in Criminology. Decided I might have an easier time finding an initial job here, and then started training with the FBI. I'd like to go back to the UK at some point; be a least a day or two drive from my mum instead of a plane ride."

"Oh, I hear you on that!" Jemma responded. " I came here for med school and my Ph.D. and found a job here, but hopefully I'll move into a faculty position at some point, preferably at Cambridge. Mum and Dad would surely like me closer to home."

"Yeah, that s-sounds about right."

"Indeed," she said, taking another sip of beer, curious about his stumbling over words, but not comfortable enough to ask about it. "By the way, are you allowed to be drinking? Technically you're on the job."

He smile towards his drink and said, "One drink isn't going to do me in. You'll still be in good hands."

"How many jobs like this have you done?"

"Really only one," he said, motioning for them to walk back to the couch. "I mean, I've had a lot of jobs protecting civilians, but I've only been assigned to an individual once."

"What was that situation like?" she asked over the sound of the television.

"There was a man who was a victim of a, um," he looked at her a little desperately, almost as if he wanted her to find the word for him. "Ah, a hate crime. He needed to be watched while the trials were going on." He took another sip of beer, and then added, "and during that job, there was a bit of an accident. That's why I have trouble with words sometimes."

_He's so interesting, _Jemma couldn't help but think. She'd have to ask about the accident in more detail later on. "Seems like you are very dedicated to your job!"

"But tell me, Dr. Simmons," Fitz began, trying to take the focus off of him, "how did you get interested in studying dead bodies?"

Jemma laughed—nobody seemed to understand her fascination. "Please, just 'Jemma.' But I don't really know. I just like knowing how things work, including the human body. I've always loved dissection, even if it made me sad at the same time. Does that make sense?"

"I guess it does, if you can stomach it. Sadly I can't. I try and stay as far away as I can from the um, the forensic team while they're working."

"It's understandable," she said. "And protective, keeping humans from developing diseases from the dead. An evolutionary protective fear, if you will. If I lived at a different time I might have caught the Plague or something while dissecting!"

"Oh, you're much too smart for that."

"Yes, but before germ theory—"

"—as long as you were surrounded by other people who were afraid of dead bodies, I don't think you would be in extra danger of contagion," he interrupted.

Jemma just laughed. "I think this conversation is getting a little ridiculous!"

"Well," he said laughing along with her, "You were the one who brought up the Plague!"

"Yes, yes, yes," she conceded. "I can be quick silly sometimes." And with that, she took one long swig of her beer, finishing it off.

"I probably shouldn't have another beer, but would you like another?"

"Yes, please!" said Jemma, turning back around to the television.

They continued chatting and watching _Friends _for what felt like no time to Jemma, but was actually quite a few hours. When the clock hit 2AM, Jemma finally realized how late it was.

"Oh goodness!" she exclaimed, grabbing his forearm to draw his attention. "Look how late it is!" She couldn't help but noticed the slight blush that crept across his face when he noticed her hand on his arm. She quickly removed it.

"Ah, yeah!" He said, a little flustered. "We should probably leave this for another night—get some sleep."

Jemma thought of the still, silent expense of her empty bedroom and shuddered a bit. She was still too terrified to go to sleep in there.

"Um, about that…" she said, twisting her hands together in nervousness, "…I'm still a little shaky about the whole murderer-coming-after-me thing. Do you think I could sleep on your couch?"

"Why don't you just take my bed?" he offered.

"No! No, please. Thank you, but I really don't want to put you out, even if you insist. I'll be perfectly fine on the couch!"

He smiled warmly at her. "Okay, that's fair. But if you need anything, let me know. I'll leave the door open a bit, and I'll be waking up periodically to check things out. You don't have to be scared." He gently reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Now was Jemma's turn to blush, and for her stomach to flip pleasantly.

With that, Fitz got up to leave for his bedroom, and Jemma pulled the couch throw over her, trying to think about Fitz's warm smile rather than the voice of Dr. Whitehall.


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma woke up slowly, registering the sound of rain and a whistling teakettle. Soon after, she heard someone mumble _damn _under his breath, along with hurried footsteps to take the kettle off. After opening her eyes and sitting up a bit, she noticed Fitz looking at her with a pained expression.

"Sorry!" he said with a grimace. "I didn't think about the, ah, the noise from the kettle. I'm so sorry to wake you!"

"It's okay," she said groggily. "I think the rain was waking me anyway."

"Ah, yeah. It's been doing that for a while."

"What time is it?" Jemma noted how dark it looked out the window.

"It's about 7:30," said Fitz, motioning to the clock on the wall while sipping from a steaming mug. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure," she replied, getting up and taking a seat by him at the kitchen table. "How long have you been up? I hope I wasn't putting you out."

"Ah, maybe and hour or so. It's not a problem, I was just checking up with the team's updates." He motioned to his laptop on the table, and a shiver went down Jemma's spine as she remembered why she was here in the first place.

"Are they having any luck?" she asked, with a smile she hoped looked normal.

"Definitely," he said while scrolling through the notes on his screen. "Would you like a full update? Or would that make you nervous?"

She made a small grimace at him. "I'm not very good at hiding my nervousness, am I? Maybe just an estimated timeline?"

He gave her an encouraging pat on the back. "Don't worry about being worried. It's a good response. What was that we were talking about last night? Healthy fears as survival mechanisms? I think this counts as one."

Jemma let out a laugh, thinking about her awkward contribution to last night's conversation. "Forgive me for bringing up the Plague and the evolutionary benefits of being afraid of dead bodies—scientist really are a socially awkward lot."

"It's okay," he said through a laugh. "I was entertained, so maybe that makes me socially awkward, too?"

"Maybe," she responded with a playfully pensive look. "Anyways, does the team have an estimated timeline?"

"Oh, right." Fitz began looking through his notes with a slight blush on his face, _perhaps embarrassed from being sidetracked_, Jemma thought. "Ah, looks like it could be at least another 24 hours, and at most another 72 hours, roughly."

"That's sooner than I thought!" Jemma exclaimed, leaning in closer to get a good look at the screen. She leaned in a little too heavily and bumped shoulders with Fitz, after which they both blushed and Fitz push his laptop over so she could look at the screen from a safer distance.

_What is going on? _She thought. _He's my agent. Not a man I met in a coffee shop. _While staring at the laptop screen pretending to read, Jemma mind's couldn't help but wander to how different it would be if her and Agent Fitz had met at a coffee shop, and not in their current situation.

"Well," she said Jemma, clearing her throat, "Do you think it's a good idea for me to go outside at all?"

"That's up to you," answered Fitz, as he got up to put his mug in the sink. "The chances of something going wrong do go up a bit, but that's what I'm here for."

Jemma thought vaguely about her and Fitz walking through the park together under one umbrella, and then decided it would be much more professional of her to avoid that situation.

"This rain is putting a damper on things," she mused. "And I do have some work on my computer to take care. I should go to my room and do that." She hurriedly got up, finishing her tea. "Thank you for the tea and the couch! See you later!"

She closed the door before she could hear Fitz's response. Perhaps she had been a bit rude, but with her thoughts running away with her, it was much better to stay separate.

…

Jemma shut the door to her flat with a heavy sigh. She felt horrible for leaving so abruptly, but what else was she to do when developing a crush on her FBI agent? _Well, he's not my FBI agent…_

But as that thought passed through her mind, she couldn't stop the image of him being _her_ FBI agent. Imaginary Fitz stood in front her, gazing at her longingly, taking a step forward and placing his hands on her waist. As imaginary Fitz began slowly to move his hands around her back, closing the distance of their lips, Jemma shook her head violently.

"Stop it, Jemma," she said to the empty apartment. "Goodness, it hasn't been _that _long."

She immediately set herself to making tea and setting up her workspace. After about 5 minutes of looking through emails, her mind wondered back to Fitz. She really hoped that he wasn't offended by her sudden disappearance.

_Perhaps I should go apologize for leaving so soon. He did make me tea and let me sleep on his couch, after all. Although if I go over there, it would be silly of me to not stay for a bit. Then I would be back in the same position. _

Taking a long, slow sip of her tea, Jemma stared at the corner of the room. The real question going through her mind was whether indulging in this crush on Agent Fitz was truly a bad idea. She was beginning to have her doubts.

_We'll at most be seeing each other for 72 hours, which is not nearly enough time for anything to really develop. It wouldn't be terrible, really, if I were to have a nice time with him. Even if things got a bit flirtatious, would that really be unprofessional? I don't think so. Besides, I'm not working right now. It's him who's on the job. If he gets uncomfortable, he'll tell me. I'll just go over there, apologize for leaving so quickly, make up an excuse, and then hang out for a bit. No harm in that._

She got up and walked into the hall, bouncing on her heels a bit with nervousness. Fitz must have heard her, because before she could even knock, the door was opening.

"Are you okay?" he asked, once again checking the hall to see if anything was out of place.

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine," she answered. "Damn, you are good at your job! Heard me before I even knocked!"

"I guess," he replied, leaning up against the doorframe. "Can I help you with anything?"

Jemma couldn't help but noticed that he seemed slightly more guarded this time around. "I, well," she started, ringing her hands together with nerves, "I was just wanting to apologize for leaving so quickly before. I forgot that I really needed to call my mum."

"Oh. Okay, that makes sense. No worries at all." His stance relaxed a bit as he leaned more heavily onto the doorframe.

"Um, are you busy by any chance?"

"You mean busy besides keeping an eye on you? Not at all."

Jemma felt a blush rise across her cheeks. For some reason his response seemed oddly flirtatious. "Well, the idea of doing work doesn't seem that great, so maybe, if you don't mind, we could hang out for a bit?"

Fitz smiled from ear to ear. "Sounds good to me."

Initially they decided to watch TV, but it quickly became apparent that 8 o'clock in the morning was not prime TV time.

"Well," started Fitz, "unless you like watching these, ah—damn—infomercials, watching these infomercials, maybe we should think of a different activity. You still want to stay in?"

Jemma looked out the window at the terrible weather, wondering how on earth he could be serious, only to look back at a playful smirk crossing his face.

With a light punch to his shoulder, Jemma said, "Nothing like an afternoon inside to test one's creativity. Perhaps a game?"

"I don't have any cards with me…"

"We may have to make up a game," she answered. "Have you played the question game before?"

"Ah, no. I have no idea what that is."

"Well, it's simple really. You just take turns asking outlandish questions to each other."

"Do you have to give outlandish answers as well?"

"No!" she said, feigning shock. "You have to answer truthfully."

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, still not quite understanding. Jemma couldn't help but notice the adorable nature of his expression. "So," he said, "you start. Give me an example of one of these 'outlandish' questions."

"Okay then." Jemma began thinking of a question that would funny and entertaining, yet everything popping into her mind dealt with science and biology in some way. _Oh well, might as well reveal my true self. _"If you had to pick between a pet chinchilla, a pygmy goat, or a capuchin monkey, which would you choose and why?"

A laugh immediately escaped Fitz's mouth. "That's easy! The capuchin, definitely."

"And why so quick to answer?" she asked, quite amused.

"Well, for one thing, they have opposable thumbs." He looked over at Jemma like that was the most obvious answer in the world.

Jemma just stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or ask for clarification.

"Cause, you know," he added, "they can hand you stuff with opposable thumbs. And they're cute and fuzzy."

"So are chinchillas and pygmy goats!" Jemma protested.

"Yes, but monkeys are _more _cute and fuzzy," he said definitively.

"All right, all right, your turn. Ask me a question."

"Okay…" He paused for a while, biting his bottom lip in concentration. Jemma tried not to look at his mouth while he did that. Tried and failed.

"Would you rather live without electricity for a year or without clothes for a week?" He smiled at her mischievously, and Jemma wondered if it was because he was proud of his 'outlandish' question or the fact that he brought up her nakedness.

"Well, I couldn't do any of my work without electricity. Dead bodies need refrigeration."

Fitz winced at her words. "So a week without clothes, then?"

"Yes," Jemma answered, with a sly smile. "Maybe I'd just take a week off and go to a nude beach or something. Somewhere I wouldn't stand out."

"You'd probably still stand out," he said, and then looked extremely mortified. "Um, I mean, in a good way. Probably. I don't know. Forget I said that." His face was so flushed that Jemma had no doubts in her mind Fitz was feeling the same attraction she was.

Not knowing exactly how to react, or whether she wanted to be flirtatious in return to let him know his comment was flattering, Jemma simple smiled at him, and said, "Can't promise anything."

"Okay," he said, looking at her with an unreadable expression. Something that felt like electricity passed between them as they looked at each other, but Fitz quickly cleared his throat and said, "Now—your turn again."

"Ah, right…" Jemma tried to get her heart rate to a normal level. "Okay, who do you like more, Sherlock or Watson?"

"Hm…" he sounded, once again biting his lip in concentration. Jemma didn't even try not to stare this time. "I'd say Watson," he concluded. "Sherlock is cool, but Watson is really the heart of the team, you know?"

"I guess that's true," she answered, in her head adding 'thoughtful' to her growing list of words that described the man in front of her. "Okay—your turn again!"

"Okay, I've got a good one." He shuffled slightly closer to her in his excitement, clearly proud of what was about to come out of his mouth. "Star Trek or Star Wars?"

"Oh, is that even a question?" She laughed.

"Yep! Even if it's obvious, please answer—"

"Star Trek—"

"Star Wars—" they said together, and his face fell dramatically when he realized Jemma had said 'Trek' instead of 'Wars.'

"No!" Jemma exclaimed. "You're one of_ those_ people."

"What?" he said, extremely confused. "_One of those people_? I could've sworn you'd be a Star Wars person."

"A Star Wars person, " Jemma scoffed. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, you're generally likable and cool, so I assumed."

Fluttering a bit at his complement, she added, "Well I'm glad I could broaden your horizons. Have you even seen any of Star Trek?"

Fitz mumbled a low "no," looking a little ashamed of himself. "What about you, have you seen Star Wars?"

"I saw one of them, something about The Clones?"

"Oh god, that doesn't even count." He got up suddenly and walked toward the kitchen, coming back with his laptop in hand. "We're going to watch the originals right now. And then maybe, if we have time, you can show me some of your Trekkie nonsense."

"Perfect. I have the majority of the original series on my computer." She raised an eyebrow at him, upping the ante.

"Good," he said, looking her straight in the eye.

As the movie started, Jemma couldn't help but smile to herself, and add 'goofball' to the list of words describing Fitz.


	4. Chapter 4

By the end of the day, they had ordered three orders of take-out, watched the three originals Star Wars movies, and five episodes of the original Star Trek show.

Jemma had nodded off a bit in the last episode (she had seen it all too often), and was curled up next to Fitz with her head on his shoulder. A loud sound of the episode woke her up, and she quickly apologized for leaning on Fitz.

As the episode concluded, Fitz turned to look at Jemma. "Well, it's midnight. Another? Or call it quits till tomorrow?"

"You're hooked, aren't you?" she asked groggily.

"Hooked is a strong word." He smirked at her, closing the laptop and sitting back with a heavy sigh. "But I'll hand it to you. Not bad."

"I knew it. And I should also admit that Star Wars, not half bad."

"Yeah?" he asked, with an adorably excited expression.

"Yeah. I had a lot of fun today."

"Me too."

Jemma couldn't pull her eyes away from his, and he didn't seem to be making an effort to break the connection either. Warmth and nerves bubbled up all through her. Something had to happen soon—they couldn't just stare at each other all night.

"Fitz?" she asked, breaking eye contact and looking at her hands in her lap.

"Yes, Jemma?"

She looked back to his serene face, loving the sound of her name on his lips. "Are you by any chance, well, are you dating any one at the moment?"

"No," he said, looking at her with an expression Jemma could only describe as longing. "You?"

"No," she answered, a smile growing on her lips as she met his gaze. "I've—I've had a really good time with you."

Fitz sat up a little straighter, aligning his face to hers. "Yeah, you're a fun person to be around."

Once again Jemma found herself staring at his face and thinking _Something has to happen. We can't just stare like this forever. _So she followed her instincts, and leaned forward to kiss him.

He responded almost immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and closing the distance between them. Fully accepting his embrace, Jemma twisted her fingers through his hair, the other hand steadying herself against the couch.

Jemma's heart was pounding in her chest as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. She noted the taste of his lips, the smell of his deodorant, the feel of his hair just where it met his neck, and got lost in the experience.

They pulled apart for a moment, breathing heavily and searching each other's eyes for clues as to whether they should continue. Fitz glanced at Jemma's lips as his hand made its way to her neck. "I really like you, Jemma," he said in a dry whisper.

She smiled in response, leaning her forehead closer to rest against his. After letting out a sigh, Jemma said, "Who knew I'd end up falling for and kissing my bodyguard? And after, what, a day and a half? It's crazy."

"Bad crazy or good crazy?" he asked, placing a gentle line of kisses across her forehead and cheek.

A chuckle escaped her mouth, and as Fitz's kisses began to trail down her neck, she gasped. He stopped immediately, pulling away with furrowed eyebrows.

"That was a good sound," Jemma clarified, and proceeded to return the favor by softly kissing his neck and jawline.

A strange, grunt-like noise escaped his mouth, and Jemma couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and Jemma looked up to see his face blushed red.

"Don't be," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing her lips to his. They tumbled back onto the couch, so that Jemma was lying on top of Fitz, and she aligned herself so that she was even with his hips. Pleasure rocked through Jemma's body as she felt how hard he was, and she involuntarily pressed her hips closer against his.

Fitz let out a low moan, grabbing for Jemma's behind in order to pull her closer. He broke the kiss momentarily, as if shocked by his own enthusiasm, and asked, "Is this too much? Or, ah, too fast?"

Jemma tried to think through his question, but it was becoming more and more difficult to think as she became aware of his hands on her bum. "Well," she started, "maybe. But I like it. What about you? Do you think it's too soon for this?"

"Honestly," he began, "it's a little hard to think with a beautiful girl straddling your lap." He tucked a stray curl behind Jemma's ear as she smiled. "But it doesn't feel wrong."

"Well then," she said, "there's nothing stopping us." In a matter of seconds their lips had met again, and Jemma felt one of Fitz's hand sneak up the inside of her t-shirt, stroking the skin of her back.

Jemma took this as an opportunity to push herself up and remove her shirt. As she leaned back down over Fitz, he began kissing her neck and chest, bringing a hand up to her left breast. She moaned and slid her hand up his shirt and onto his chest.

Fitz sat up suddenly, lifting up his arms and giving Jemma a look that said, "Help?" Understanding after a moment, she lifted his shirt up and over his head, throwing it to the ground and proceeding to touch as much of his skin as she could. Her head was reeling as he lowered her down so that he was now on top of her. Despite that fact that she had only just met him, Jemma felt safe in his arms, safe with his warm body surrounding her. She couldn't help but notice how different this time was from her other sexual experiences. It felt new and exciting, but somehow so comfortable.

Their eyes met as Fitz reached underneath her for her bra strap, and Jemma gave a quick nod before he unlooked the latch. Once the bra was thrown to the side, Jemma blushed furiously as she saw how Fitz was looking at her: as if she was the most beautiful human on earth.

Placing a hand on his cheek to wake him up from his reverie, Jemma gently guided him to her chest. He began to kiss and lick her nipples, while snuggling his abdomen more firmly between her legs. Jemma felt herself melting into the couch as he worked—and decided their pants were completely unnecessary. She reached for his waistband, tugging him closer to her and searching for his button and zipper. Fitz lifted himself up an inch or so, allowing her enough space to maneuver the button.

In a few short moments, both of their jeans were discarded onto the floor, and they landed back on the couch facing each other on their sides. Slowly and with tender care, Fitz moved his fingers underneath the waistband of Jemma's underwear. She moaned as his hand caressed the skin of backside and lower back, then coming forward teasingly on her lower abdomen.

Catching a playful look in his eyes, Jemma followed suit by placing her hand into his shorts and grasping at his inner thigh. The smirk left his face as he closed his eyes, moaning in return and moving his hands from Jemma's abdomen to right over her pelvic bone. The pressure of his light circles evacuated all thoughts and plans from her head, and her hand went limp within Fitz shorts. The feel of his hand against her brought shivers down her spine. She mustered up her concentration to begin stroking him up and down, leaving him momentarily distracted from his task.

Finally getting into a rhythm where both were touching and being touched, Jemma opened her eyes to fully absorb her surroundings. The look of desire on Fitz's face filled her chest and abdomen with warmth, a feeling that was soon intensified by Fitz's index finger reaching deeper into her folds.

Jemma briefly remembered that she hadn't done any hair grooming in ages, but she melted a bit more when she realized Fitz not only didn't seem to mind, but was becoming undone at the look and the feel of her. She was about to suggest moving to the next step, when Fitz's phone started buzzing loudly.

"Damn!" said Fitz, as they both jumped in shock from the sound. It was an annoying official sound, telling Jemma that this wasn't something he could ignore. Fitz removed his hand from Jemma and grabbed for his phone. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked on the screen, and said, "Hold on a sec," while answering it.

"Are you sure?" he asked into the phone, concern lining his voice. "Okay, will do." He hung up, and looked straight at Jemma. "We have to get out here. Now."


	5. Chapter 5

"What is going on?" Jemma asked as she tripped while stepping into her jeans.

"That was the team," Fitz answered, buttoning up his jeans and searching for his shirt. "Somehow Whitehall was tipped off. Must have been the pizza guy. I knew something was up with him."

Jemma's heart rate increased. "Where are we going to go?"

"You're going to hide," he said, checking a gun that he pulled out of know where. "I'm going to make sure he doesn't get to where you're hiding."

"But," she said as he started moving them out the door, "you could get hurt."

Fitz froze in his tracks, and then turned to face Jemma. "This is my job, Jemma. You come first."

"No! I don't like this!" she yelled.

He turned away from her for a brief moment, checking the hall. Looking back to her, he said, "Jemma, we don't have time to talk about this now. I'm trained for this. I'm an FBI agent. You're not. Please let me find you a hiding place."

Jemma knew she couldn't argue with him. If anything, she would put him in more danger by trying to help. "Fine," she relented, "but you be careful."

He nodded at her with a confused smile. Perhaps he wasn't used to people worrying about him. Taking her hand in his, he led her up a few flights of stairs. After scoping out the floor plan, they eventually found a storage closet with a nook from which Fitz could get cover.

"Okay," he said, pulling out an extra gun, making Jemma wonder where on earth he was keeping them, "have you ever used a gun before?"

"A BB gun when I was twelve," she admitted, looking at the gun as if it were a rattlesnake.

"Close enough," he replied, shoving the gun into her hand. "Hopefully you won't have to use it. Just a precaution. So when I close the door, you can't make a sound until I or someone else from the team opens the door. The quieter you are, the less chance Whitehall has of finding you."

"But what if something happens to you?"

"You stay until the team gets you."

"But what if something happens to them?"

"You stay until, ah, W-W-Whitehall leaves and call 911," he said, hands shaking.

"But—"

"—Jemma," he interrupted, "we don't have time. Please get in the closet." He was starting to look very worried, and so Jemma nodded, and began stepping back into the dark room.

Before she was fully inside, Fitz reached out for her hand. Jemma looked up, surprised to see Fitz leaning towards her. He kissed her quickly and intensely, as if trying to express all his feelings in a matter of seconds. "I won't go far," he whispered to her.

"Please be careful," was all Jemma managed to choke out, before stepping fully into the closet.

"I'll do my best," he said, pulling the door shut and plunging Jemma into darkness.

Jemma felt around in the darkness for something to duck behind, finally finding some sort of shelf and crouching down. It was completely silent for almost half and hour, besides the slightest shuffle of Fitz's shoes outside the door. All Jemma could think about were the possibilities of something terrible happening to her or Fitz. _Anything could go wrong, _she thought to herself. In remembering how wonderful her day had been, Jemma felt a lump in her throat forming at the unfairness of it all. _We had just met, and things were going so well. We have to come through this. We have to._

Shaking slightly, Jemma began breathing slowly to keep her emotions in check, as she knew she was a loud crier. Just then she heard a blast of gunfire, followed by four successive shots. She covered her mouth in order to keep herself from screaming, wishing she could cover her ears at the same time.

"If you let us have the girl, there's no need to keep this up," Jemma heard a man say with ease, recognizing the voice as Dr. Whitehall's.

"What's the point in finding her?" she heard Fitz respond. "The FBI is already on your tail. Following witnesses won't do you any good."

"Let's just say it's a matter of principle," Whitehall said. Some sort of banging noises were making their way up the staircase, from what Jemma could gather. "Mr. Ward," Whitehall continued, "can you go and see what all the ruckus is about?"

Jemma could only assume from the sound of footsteps that Ward had left the scene. More distant shots soon followed, and Jemma noticed that she wasn't breathing. Taking slow breaths in and out, she felt her skin become more and more clammy even in the cool of the closet. She wanted the whole ordeal to be over. Not knowing what else to do, Jemma closed her eyes and began a prayer-like chant of "please be okay, please be okay" that was not directed at any being in particular, but more of a plea to the universe to make things right.

Suddenly shots were firing again, this time right outside the door. She heard various people calling out, and assumed the rest of the team must have arrived. Panic shot through Jemma's system as gunfire rang out, followed immediately by a male voice, crying out in pain. Once again, Jemma covered her mouth with her hands to keep herself from screaming. She couldn't be sure that it was Fitz, but something about the voice sounded familiar.

Another five minutes of gunfire passed, which felt like an eternity to Jemma. When the door finally opened, she braced herself for the worst. Yet she was met with the gentle touch of a small hand on her shoulder.

"Dr. Simmons," said a young woman about her age that Jemma recognized from Coulson's team, kneeling down on the floor, "you can come out now. Whitehall is in our custody."

Barely able to move, Jemma slowly got up, still feeling tremors all over her body. She blinked rapidly while moving out into the light of the hall, and felt her stomach fall to the ground as she laid eyes on Fitz.

He was smiling at her from the ground, but grasping his leg and surrounded by a puddle of blood.

"Don't worry about this," he said faintly before Jemma could react. "Trip's gone to get some medical supplies and the EMTs are on their way."

"Goodness gracious, at least let me…" but Jemma never finished her sentence, simply taking off her sweater, bending down, and applying pressure to his wound. "Don't you agents know anything about wound care?"

"That's right! _Doctor _Simmons!" said the other agent. "I'm Agent Skye. Glad to have you around!"

"I really thought an FBI team would as least know how to slow bleeding," Jemma said, gritting her teeth.

"Well, like Fitz said," Skye responded, "Trip is our go-to med guy, and he's gone to stuff to clean the wound."

"At least it wasn't my head this time," Fitz said through a grimace.

"That's what happened to you before? You got shot in the head? And _lived_?" Jemma looked at him in shock. "You're cooler than I thought."

"He's the coolest," said another female agent who had come up the stairs, with the slightest inclination of a smirk.

Fitz laughed lightly, still clutching his leg as if it was going to fall off. "Thanks May."

"So Whitehall is really taken care of?" Jemma asked to the other agents.

"In the S.W.A.T. truck as we speak," answered May.

"And that Ward character? He's taken care of, too?"

"Funny story about that guy," began Skye. "He's the one who ended up taking down Whitehall. Wants to sort out some kind of deal for himself."

"Are we going to give him one?" asked Fitz.

"Gotta figure out his motives first." May answered.

Eventually Trip arrived with the medical supplies, and soon after the ambulance, into which Fitz was whisked away. Jemma was escorted to the FBI headquarters so she could be debriefed.

And before she knew it, Jemma was back in her own apartment, with her cat, and throbbing headache. Everything in her body was telling her to go to sleep; yet she couldn't. She couldn't get a certain agent out of her mind.


	6. Epilogue

_This place feels like the Artic, _Jemma thought, as she sat in the hospital room next to Fitz. He had come out of surgery some time earlier, and as his vitals were fine and the bullet properly removed from his thigh, the rest of his team had gone back to headquarters.

She knew the team thought it was strange that she was there. They probably assumed she came out of guilt or gratitude for his protection. Yet it wasn't that. In two days Jemma had come to realize that Fitz was someone to keep around. It wasn't love yet, she noted to herself, as Fitz lay asleep on the bed in front of her, but the amount of potential in their relationship was what brought Jemma his hospital bed.

Two days, and she knew he cared for her and she for him. Two days, and she knew she could act a fool with him and he act foolish with her. Two days, and she knew, with more time, she could fall in love with this man. Perhaps the process had already started.

"Jemma," Fitz mumbled, one eye opening before the other, "you're here?"

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his hand. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. Seemed odd to just go home."

He smiled weakly, and said, "I'm really glad you're here."

Jemma smiled widely in return. "Yeah, I'm glad I'm here with you, too. Maybe after you get better, we can go on date. How does that sound?"

"Absolutely perfect," he said, squeezing her hand in return.


End file.
